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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
ok so the first chapter of this was a short story i wrote using the early version of iseul and my ideas for this stuff (before the male character was made) and a lot of it may be in a possible final?? other versions?? i do
yeah
has some of the other characters ive mentioned in it
@ganekiken if wanna see.... its from a year ago tho lmao its kind of old
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
btw! Pi and i started working on a fic together! its full of tg spoilers tho be warned, though it is an AU with Eto and Kaneki as the main characters, though Hide will be very important later on.
Iseul
Another short story i wrote! This time more recent. I really like the characters in this one and have a lot of notes about their world and some other characters too.
Story's about a female Werewolf whose close with some fairies and stuff, and then her friend gets kidnapped and she has to go hunt him down.
iseul's a transwoman as well but its never mentioned in my story as I had no real place to put it? next time ill try to mention it
(ao3)
Iseul was well aware that they didn’t particularly like her in the grove. It wasn’t a fact they hid very well, but then again, fae had never been known for their ability to keep secrets. It was anyone’s guess as to how they even managed to stay out of sight from the majority of humanity.
She didn’t blame them, though. Iseul was no fairy, no small creature with delicate wings and wicked looking nails and teeth, dark skin glittering and glowing in the dim light as their bodies hummed with magic. That wasn’t her. She was big – standing a good six feet at least, all pale skin, muscle, and scar tissue. And, when the moon arose fully each month, she was more dangerous than any fairy could ever hope to be.
The downsides of a being a werewolf, sometimes, felt much heavier than the upsides.
She had yet to be chased out, which was always a plus. The forest and all of its overgrown trees, sprawling roots and ivy, and patches of mushrooms and wild flowers were starting to grow on Iseul. In some ways, it almost felt like a new home; one to replace the home she had lost when she left the pack. That was a home she knew couldn’t return to. Even if she could, she felt no reason to return to the life she had left behind.
She turned north, waiting for her visitor to reach their destination. Most fairies didn’t go out of their way to talk to her. She felt nervous. What could they possibly want? Nothing good, she figured, knowing her luck in life.
As they neared, Iseul surprised to see that there had been a second being - a fae this time, a ghost compared to the familiar young witch hunched over beside her.
"Iseul!" the witch panted, clearly tired from running the entire way there. "It's... really... really… urgent!"
Iseul grew impatient as the witch struggled to form words through her exhaustion. "Gracie, what is it?" she asked, placing a gentle hand on her. Graciela, or Gracie as they called her, stood a good five foot three with hair about the same length. Iseul had to bend down slightly to be at eye level.
The fae, Thema, was stern as she regarded Iseul. Her presence there worried Iseul to no end. Thema was a woman who demanded one’s attention, with full lips and strong, sharp cheekbones. Her wings were the colour of gold and shimmered in the faint light that made its way through the canopy above them. She carried an air of power around her. It was no surprise her name meant ‘Queen’.
As intimidating as she was, that wasn’t what was bothering Iseul. "Where's Kojo?" Iseul asked, suddenly feeling dread pool in her stomach.
"That's what I'm here about!" Gracie said, her voice returning to her. Busy hands got to work on straightening her rumbled dress out. "His mom noticed him missing, and I did a little spell. He's in the city."
"And?” Iseul asked. “He sneaks out there a lot, doesn't he?" She crossed her arms defensively, like a wall to protect her. Thema was here for a reason. Iseul wasn’t sure if she wanted to know it, but she felt like she did.
Thema nodded, one chocolate coloured hand running nervously along her many braids. "Unfortunately, yes," she said, sighing in contempt. Her golden freckles sparkled like glitter as she spoke. Iseul had heard the same lecture from her to her son several times: ‘fairies were much safer in the grove, yadda, yadda’. No matter how many times Thema had tried to tell Kojo that, he never seemed to listen. "But my son may be in real danger this time. We believe a human may have gotten a hold of him. The last time that happened… oh, he hasn’t been the same since."
Iseul's mind raced to a number of possibilities. While humans didn't always spell bad things for any supernatural creature, there was no telling what kind of situation Kojo had gotten himself into. His impulsiveness was his fatal flaw. Her heart thrummed with anxiety. "Let me guess," she began, "you want me to track him down?"
Gracie nodded, her curly hair going everywhere. Iseul was surprised her hat even stayed on. "Yeah. You're his closest friend, after all, and you have a good nose. Plus, on the off chance a hunter took him, you have the element of surprise. Non-magical creatures are much harder to track compared to us,” she explain, hands digging into her clothes. She bit at her lip. Her eyes flicked down, before meeting Iseul’s gaze once more. “You… do think you can find him, right?”
If Iseul had been nervous before, she felt even worse at the unsure tone of Gracie’s voice. She swallowed thickly, thinking. Iseul cracked her knuckles nervously. It was an old habit of hers that she had picked up from her father.
Thema seemed to take notice of her change in demeanor, and slowly put a hand on Gracie’s shoulder. “I am sure she can,” she told the witch, voice full of a confidence Iseul had never known. Even then, the words meant a lot to Iseul, as Thema had never been a fan of hers, especially when they first met. Iseul couldn’t blame her; a fear of werewolves was not unwarranted.
Iseul inhaled deeply. "Alright,” she began, doing her best to keep her voice even. “I'm… I’m sure I'll be able to find him. No worries, alright?”
The two women nodded, both of them looking different shades of relieved. “Got it!” Gracie chirped as she turned on her heel. “Have a safe journey. Good luck.” With those final words, Graciela was off running once more.
Thema turned to Iseul, her face cold as stone. "Iseul Park," she said, speaking as if each of her words were carefully picked out, "when you find Kojo, please inform him of the amount of trouble he is in." Iseul nodded, feeling a shiver at the coldness of her voice. Thema showed no mercy with her punishments. She only ran short of physically harming or emotionally scarring people. She was a good woman, really, but Iseul couldn’t say she wished Thema was her own mother.
"...I will," she replied, trying to ignore the voices in her head telling her all the ways she could fail. “I will.”
***
Making it to Annapolis was a breeze. It had taken Iseul a while to memorise the path, but it was the kind of thing she never really forgot, like how to tie her boots or how to ride a bike. It stuck with her almost like magic. Perhaps it really was magic. One never knew with fairies.
The dirt path from the forest let up to the outskirt of the city, where few outlets and some homes were located. It was closer to the business side of Annapolis, where construction was more common than people. Iseul had always wondered if the fae ever worried about the city expanding into their territory, but yet it never seemed edge any closer to their borders.
The air in the city was noticeably staler. It was something Iseul had never noticed until she found herself used to the fresh, minty air in the grove, which always carried a small touch of electricity from the amount of pure magic that hung around. Annapolis, instead, gave her concrete and pollution, with the occasional scent from the assortment of foods being cooked.
Iseul glanced around the area. When she confirmed she was alone, she stepped back, before breaking into a run. She hopped a fence, but her feet never hit the ground. Rather, as her hand left the metal, she morphed into her wolf form, landing skillfully on her paws. The impact sent a shock through her legs, but it barely hurt.
This was nothing new to her. As a werewolf, she had three forms: her human form, a wolf form, and the true werewolf form. The first one was self-explanatory. The second, her wolf form, allowed her to turn into a wolf – complete with black fur to match her hair colour, and each and every one of her scars. Past her size and intelligence, she was nearly indistinguishable from a normal wolf. Iseul’s wolf self was about as long as she was tall as a human and she was not a small girl.
Her werewolf form was in another ballpark entirely, and only achievable on full moons. It wasn't something she liked to talk about.
Iseul made her way through Annapolis, keeping to the shadows. Tracking the familiar scent of Kojo wasn't as difficult as she had assumed it would be, but she still struggled with shaking off the feeling that she was going to fail. She barely had confidence in herself. Even Gracie hadn’t seemed sure. So, why did Thema believe in her?
The good thing about being a wolf, she decided, was that you didn't have to think about that as much. Self-doubt was worlds away when someone was scratching you behind the ear.
As she neared the more populated areas of the city, Iseul forced herself to turn back to a human. She could still track her friend, sure, but it would be harder to latch onto the scent. Being inconspicuous always meant one couldn’t do things the fun way. Or, least, that was what Kojo liked to say. Iseul couldn’t say he wrong.
As the sun made its way across the sky, she found herself moving farther and farther away from the hub of the city, and thus farther from her home. It was worrying. Kojo was adventurous, yes, but he rarely went this far away - at least, as far as Iseul knew, and he tended to be honest with her.
By then, the buildings were more sparse, graffiti covering their lonely walls. Older structures were more common now, their age showing in their sorry state. Annapolis had existed since the 1800s, so the only surprise was that many of the old buildings were still being used.
It wasn’t long before Iseul reached her destination. She found herself in front of a condemned Victorian era house. They weren't uncommon in the city; with the number of foreclosures that had been picking up in the last few years. She doubted the house was cheap when it had been in good condition.
She could smell Kojo, though, and that’s what mattered. He was close. Along with his familiar scent (pine and orange) came the scent of magic that hung around. It reminded her of ozone, of the smell right before a lightning storm. It was electric to her senses, sharp like needles, and unmistakable. It was stronger in the grove, but there the scents of the plants helped take away some of the sharpness. Iseul wasn't even sure if humans could smell magic. Maybe even fairies couldn't; her nose was beyond either of theirs.
Breaking in was easy. Half rotted wood didn't stand much of a chance to her strength. Though, she was sure she was going to be picking splinters out of her skin for months.
Iseul was surprised she didn’t sneeze the moment she walked in. The air was staler than the city, full of dust and other particles. She covered her mouth, making her way through the house, careful to not make a sound. She had no idea what she was going to be up against. She could smell another presence, all iron and sweet-grass. Iron wasn't a good sign – fairies had a natural weakness to it. There was a reason they stayed away from human civilization, after all. Humans loved iron. Iseul was just glad that silver was considered a precious metal, and thus, not commonly used.
Iseul only gave a passing glance to the different rooms. The afternoon sun shone in through cracks in the wood on the windows, illuminating it well enough for her to see if there was someone waiting for her in the shadows. There was nothing but scattered, forgotten furniture. Nothing was a neutral sign. Sure, no enemy to deal with was good, but it also meant no Kojo.
Iseul trekked up a rickety set of stairs, which creaked under her weight. Pine and orange attacked her nose right away. She found Kojo on the second floor, in a bedroom. He seemed to be asleep, his hands bound, but... she crouched closer, unsure. His warm brown eyes opened a little. Kojo gave a miniscule shake of the head. Then he jerked it towards the form of another man, silhouetted against an untouched window.
Iseul ducked, rolling onto the ground until she was under the bed. She could only hope that she hadn’t made too much sound. From her position she couldn't see much of the man by the glass. From what she could tell, he was average, strawberry-blond, and seemed to favour the colours green and black judging by his clothes. Still, she wasn’t without an idea as to who he was. The amount of weapons he carried told her everything: he was a hunter. But what did a hunter want with a fairy? Sure, they could be dangerous if provoked, but they were rarely agitated by humans. Hunters were supposed to target dangerous supernatural creatures, weren’t they? She couldn’t even begin to imagine Kojo as being dangerous.
“So, fairy,” the man began, tapping his foot idly. “You've been awfully quiet. And here I thought you'd miss me from our last meeting... still haven't learned to keep your nose out of the big city, eh?”
“Shut up, Thad,” Kojo hissed back. Thad. She knew that name. This wasn’t good.
Iseul could hear Kojo trying to fight against his bonds, before crying out in pain. Iron. He had to have come in contact with iron to make that kind of sound. Iseul felt her chest tighten. It took a lot to stop herself from reacting impulsively. Seeing, or hearing, her friends in pain was not something she enjoyed. She was a protector at heart, even if she often felt like she was no good at it.
“What do you even want?” rasped Kojo, a vicious bite to his voice, one she had never heard before.
Thad moved so that his face in Iseul's line of sight. “Same as last time we met. I want your magic,” Thad stated plainly, cracking his knuckles. “And we all know we can do this the hard way or the easy way.” Iseul could tell by the contempt in his tone that no matter what happened, Kojo was not coming out of this okay. She was no fan of hunters, but Thad was particularly infamous for ignoring any of the rules the Hunter’s guild had put into place. He was a rogue – savage in tactic and ruthless in nature. Not the kind of man anyone would wish to cross paths with.
She could see Kojo swinging his legs, the only part of him visible to her as he adjusted his position on the worn out bed. He mumbled something that even Iseul had to strain her ears to hear. Thad moved in closer. “What was that?” he asked, his tone the vocal equivalent of a sneer.
Thad let out a yelp. Iseul winced at the sudden sound. One of Kojo's legs moved like lightning, and she heard the shattering of glass. “You-!” There was another loud sound, before Thad ran passed the bed, out into the hall, and down the stairs with enough force enough to break a step. Iseul waited a moment once he was out of sight, before she even dared to slip out.
Kojo was perched up on the bed, nursing a slowly forming black eye. “How'd you find me?” he whispered. Other than the injury to his eye, he seemed fine. That was definitely a relief.
“You reek,” she quipped, struggling with his iron handcuffs. They broke under the stress, no match for her strength – even if it had been difficult to break. She was definitely considering learning how pick locks if this was going to become a habit for Kojo. Knowing him, it was entirely possible. “What'd you do to Thad?”
“I bit him. And then when he got his hand away I kicked this trinket out of his hand, this one that he needs to work with magic,” he replied, watching her. His usual curious glint was in his eyes, a glint that never seemed to leave.
Underneath the iron was a simple rope, binding his wrists together. Where there iron had met brown skin, there were welts and burn from the contact. Iseul winced, but Kojo seemed to pay them no heed. She got to work on untying him, her hands fumbling as she rushed to do it before Thad came back. She had spent far too much time on the iron.
“I can untie myself,” Kojo said indignantly.
Iseul let go, hands spread out defensively. She gave him an unimpressed look. “Okay. Fine. Do it.”
In the distance, they could hear swearing. The bounding of boots on rotten wood was coming closer to them. Kojo looked panicked. “On second thought,” he said suddenly, “keep untying me, please.”
Iseul hummed, a small smile playing on her lips. “Thought so,” she said, successfully untying him. The sound of footsteps was closer. The broken stairs may have been a saving grace. “Can you fly?” she asked, gripping his shoulder a bit too tightly.
Kojo gave a discomforted look. “No. My wings are still damaged from my first meeting with Thad, from before I met you.” She knew little of that time, only what she could pick up from conversations. Iseul never pressed.
Iseul sighed in defeat. Taking the main door would mean they'd have to come face to face with Thad. She knew without a doubt that he was carrying silver as well as iron on his body. Hunters seemed to have this idea that being crazily prepared was the only type of prepared. Dealing with him again would be unpleasant at best, and a death sentence for them both at worst.
She looked around, trying to find anything to aid them. She really had been the worst choice for this, hadn't she? Unless... Her eyes caught the glimmer of broken glass on the floor. She glanced up, up at the windows that Thad's trinket had been kicked out of. It was a large window, taking up most of the northern wall. Likely, they were in what had once been the master bedroom. Part of it was boarded up, but a majority of the planes boasted dirtied glass, where weak sunlight managed to filter through. A stronger beam of sunlight streamed through the hole Kojo had made.
They were only on the second floor… A small smirk formed on Iseul's face. Maybe she could do this.
“Oh no,” Kojo said, shaking his head as his hands went up, palms facing her. “I don't like that look on your fa-!” his words formed into a shout as Iseul picked him up and ran full force towards the window.
If Iseul had learned anything that day, it was that breaking a window by running into it looked far easier in movies. It also looked far less painful. The hole made it easier to break, it seemed, but it hurt more than she had expected. The glass cut in to their skin like paper.
Iseul tried to maneuver herself in the short fall, hoping to take the brunt of the landing. Kojo didn’t need any more injuries, and to be honest, he was far more fragile than she ever had been. She felt tremors of pain go through her body as she landed harshly in the dying grass. “You okay?” she asked. Kojo gave a weak nod, his arms wrapped around her tightly, threatening to choke her to death if he got too much of a spook.
Shouting came from the window, but Iseul didn't focus on the words. All she heard was the cocking of a gun – and she knew without a doubt that it was likely loaded with silver bullets. Hunters were weapon obsessed, and Thad was the worst of them all.
She sat Kojo down, shouting “Get on my back!” Before he could give a coherent reply, she was a wolf once more. As soon as she felt his weight on her body, she took off, racing bustling city, not paying any mind to the screams of pedestrians that noticed them. She'd deal with any of the collateral or lectures from Thema after Kojo was safe.
Iseul didn't slow down until the grove came up on the horizon. Once there, Kojo slipped off her back with one of his rare moments of grace. He smiled at her, scratching her behind the ear like he knew she liked. To be honest, she had no problem people petting her, and a hands-on person like Kojo loved to do it. Being a werewolf did have it upsides.
It didn’t take long for their presence to be noted. Thema rushed over, hugging Kojo closely. She murmured things in Akan, her native language.
Graciela came over as well. It was odd to see her, as while she lived on the edge of the forest, it was rare for her to spend much time in it. Fairies were territorial, Gracie had told her. Iseul knew she was luckily that at least two of them liked her.
Thema ordered Gracie to get bandages for their wounds. “Thank you for getting my son back. He doesn't know how much trouble's hes in-”
“Mom! It wasn’t my fault, he snuck up on me!”
“But I am so happy that he's safe,” she said, running a hand through Kojo's thick mop of kinks and curls. “Though I doubt this will keep him out of Annapolis.”
Iseul shifted back to being human. “It's not a problem,” Iseul replied. She rubbed at the calluses on her hand idly. It was around then that it sunk in: she had successfully rescued her friend. Huh. It hit her in a way she couldn't describe. For a moment she felt depersonalized, like she wasn't herself at all. Maybe she wasn't so hopeless... Yeah, yeah, she wasn’t. She had managed to get Kojo without anything bad happening. In fact, other than the cuts from the glass, no one had even gotten hurt, which was a miracle for her. Thema had believed in her, and she had still done it despite her own doubts… Iseul felt hope spread through her chest, warming her, bringing a smile to her face. “Not a problem at all.”
Thema lips twitched; it was the closest thing to a smile she had ever given Iseul. “I can only hope you won’t have to go do this again in the future but… Kojo’s track record isn’t the best.” She ignored the muttering of her son. Her strong grip on his shoulders kept him from escaping her clutches. “I’m going to have so much grey in my hair from him by the time he’s an adult.”
Iseul chuckled. “You and me both,” she replied.
Thema nodded once at her. Iseul decided that Thema’s lip twitches definitely counted as smiles. Iseul would take what she could get.
Thema turned, face stern. Without hesitation, she launched into her usual lecture with Kojo. “I’ve told you time and time again, you can’t just leave like that! It’s dangerous, and you’ve proven this more than once. Things aren’t like they were when I was a child, or even when you were younger, Kojo.” Iseul zoned out after that. She had heard the lecture many times despite it not being for her. She had a feeling Kojo wasn’t any more attentive to his mother. By now, Iseul figured he could recite it all by heart.
She snapped back into reality at the sound of Kojo’s voice. “Hey! Come on,” he said, slipping away from his mother. He grabbed her hand. Iseul glanced at Thema, who just gave her a tired look. “Mom cut the lecture short for once. She told me I should go rest ‘cuz what happened was probably scary, but…” He tugged at her arms, dragging her towards his own house. Iseul didn’t budge, looking down at him with a raised eyebrow. “You promised me the other day you'd teach me how to make kimchi,” he continued, “and all those other Korean foods you said your family would make back in Seoul!”
“Alright, alright,” Iseul said, giving an airy laugh. She went along with him, as he prattled on about the foods she had promised they’d make.
In the end, she hadn't been such a bad protector after all. Kojo was fine, and he bounced back easily enough, even if she had a nagging feeling that cooking with her was a way for him to cope. Still, if she could help him like he had helped her in the past in any way, well…That was good enough for her.
Heartbeat
Short story I wrote about a year ago that I was sure I posted, but, it seems I didn't?
It's about a lady knight who rescues a princess from a dragon and their short adventure together.
“Why couldn't I rescue Rapunzel instead?” Historia grumbled to herself, her voice strained from the effort of scaling the vine covered stones. Historia let out a shaking breath as she tried to keep her breathing even, her face slick with sweat. She searched for yet another foot hold along the tower's wall. All she had to do was pretend that one wrong move wouldn't leave her plunging many metres to her death and then it wasn't nearly as bad. It was pleasant, even, like a nice run around the town.
No, Historia wasn't fooling herself. Pushing the negative thoughts to crevices of her mind instead putting her focus on the daunting task ahead. At the very least she wasn't afraid of heights... It was just the falling part that made her feel the familiar cold touch of fear.
Her blonde hair was coming loose from her normally tight bun. Every so often, Historia had to flick her bangs out of her eyes, making her ascent only that much more difficult. She wished that she could shed her armour, but alas, they were a burden for her to bear lest she want to run into trouble and get herself badly hurt.
One of the stones under her hand – rough, but worn from weather and time – gave away from the tower, and fell free. Her breath caught in her throat. Historia searched frantically for a place for her dangling arm, the stone it had once been holding now laying in pieces below her. She could see the towers only window directly above her. Had she really climbed that fast? Still, it was just a little more. Reaching as far as she could, Historia jumped for it. She felt a jolt go through her limbs as she caught herself, and soon her hands were strained from holding her weight. With difficulty, she pulled herself up and into the window, falling ungracefully onto the floor in a heap. The air was cool against her face, which was flushed from her exertion. There was a musky smell that hung in the air, like one of the old rotten homes that dotted the plains on her way to the exact tower she was currently in. Historia figured the place wasn't very well kept, but she prayed that it was the correct building. Historia had no plans to return home with her head hung low. She hadn't set off miles from her precious home to prove herself as a knight, and to show she wasn't riding off her father's fame, only to fail so easily.
Alas, first she had to rescue the princess of Aradiana – which was proving to be far more difficult than any fairy tales made it such a task out to be.
Historia pushed herself up until she was standing. Her eyes scanned the expanse of the circular room. It was a good size, likely bigger then her own, but of course rooms always looked small with their floors littered with armour, weapons, and numerous articles of clothing.
The walls were the same ancient looking stone as the exterior, bleak and grey. However, they weren't as weathered, which was to be expected. Wood compiled the floor and ceiling, while support beams of what looked like oak dotted the room. Vines from outside had invaded the tower via the window, snaking along the wood and stone. Despite the wild look it gave, as Historia inspected the vines more closely, they almost appeared to have been trimmed recently. How peculiar, she thought.
Her hands glossed over a beautifully carved table as she began to walk around the room. The matching chair lay abandoned to the side, looking lonely. Historia saw movement in the corner of her eye. She abruptly spun around, heart pounding in anticipation of a fight... but it was only her own reflection from a large mirror that stood on the other side of the area. Feeling embarrassed with herself, she slowly approached it, face slightly flushed but this time for a far different reason. She pressed a gloved hand to it. Even through the fabric she felt the familiar coolness of the glass, the surface smooth towards the middle. The edges were a clockwork of cracks, like slivers of darkness slowly creeping up on her.
Still, she often did not have time to see what she looked like. Historia's home did have mirrors, but she didn't often look in them, for reasons that escaped her. Really, her looks had never been something on her mind. So, Historia stared at herself whilst she could, drinking in her own tanned complexion and a galaxy of freckles on her body. Historia tucked back some loose strands of hair. Then she noticed something: more movement in the corner of her eyes. There was no way it was her this time. Her movements weren't as hurried as they had been previously but she was still a little anxious as she looked behind her. All she saw was the same empty tower. With a deep frown, she began to try to find what – or who – was there with her, far too distracted to noticed she had neglected to see if anything had moved behind her.
“Boo,” a voice – deep but unmistakably feminine – whispered into her ear, breath hot against the skin. Historia screamed, taken off guard. She tried to slow her heartbeat, pressing her hand to her breastplate as laughter reached her ears.
Behind Historia, a girl who appeared to be around her age was clutching at her sides, very nearly doubled over in her own amusement. Historia figured out who she was easily. Between the decorative hair clutch that held back chestnut hair, creamy skin that was pale from little sunlight, and a low-cut dress Historia could never hope to afford, it was a no brainer that it was just the person Historia was looking for: the princess, Serenity.
Even face to face with the girl Historia had come all this way to save, she found herself grimacing.
Serenity has since calmed down, her eyes hungrily looking Historia over. “So... you're my knight, eh?” she said, sounding almost unimpressed as she crossed her arms. “Well, you did get farther than most do. But maybe it's because of just plain ol' luck and not skill, you know?” Her dismissive tone seemed to indicate that she expected Historia to fail soon, for reasons unknown to Historia.
The knight opened her mouth to retort, but a sudden sound made her go rigid. It sounded like the swooping of wings, like an oversized bat that had gotten far too close to the tower for comfort.
Serenity acted first, roughly shoving Historia to the ground in a clatter of metal before all but kicking her under the table. Historia held her breath as she peaked out from her hiding place, confusion crossing her features. In the window, a glinting eye as big as her head could be seen. “Jotun...” she murmured in awe. So, that explained Serenity's actions... As fast as it came, the eye was gone in a flash of blue-green scales. While she couldn't see nor hear it anymore, Historia knew that it wouldn't be the last she saw of the creature; the dragon that guarded the tower.
Historia sat up and grabbed one of Serenity's broad shoulders. “Come on,” she said, pulling the princess to the only exit as her hand dropped to Serenity's wrist. Historia hefted her leg over the window sill. “We can continue our introductions later.”
“Wait! Th-” Serenity was cut off as the dragon swooped by them. Jotun gave out a monstrous cry that cut through the air. Historia almost lost her balance. Just like with the mirror, her heart began to beat far too fast, far too loudly, but she knew this would not end with the reveal that the dragon was a mere reflection. She tried to force herself to stay calm. One wrong move and she knew it would be over. No second chances.
“You're going to get us both killed!” Serenity shrieked as she tried to wretch her arm out of Historia's vice grip.
“I won't,” Historia replied with faked confidence. Jotun came back around, having gone a full circle around the structure. He was looking furious that someone was trying to take the princess. A ring of horn-like quills flared out around his face as though he was trying to make himself look bigger. Not that he needed too, as his only opponent was a girl who was barely 5'1''.
Historia counted down in her mind, numbers in rhythm with her pounding heart. She sucked in a calming breath, and as the enormous beast swooped in to knock her off her feet, she jumped, pulling Serenity along with her. Serenity screamed, her face twisted into terror as they fell freely through the air. With a thump, the two of them landed in a scramble of limbs onto the dragon's neck. Serenity nearly tumbled off, far less prepared for such a situation than Historia had been.
“A little warning would have been nice!” Serenity cried over the angered bellows of the dragon. Jotun thrashed around, trying to get the pests on his body off him. Historia dug her short-sword into the dragon's neck, angled in a way that it managed to get into a chink in the overlapping scales. She could only hope that it would hold. Serenity wasn't doing as well, her body half dangling off. She clung to the throat for dear life, fear plastering her face.
“When I say to, jump!” ordered Historia, going into the next phase of her plan. Ivan – a knight she had known for quite some time who was from the same hometown – often chided her for behaviour like this. More often than not, Historia tended to go in without an actual plan instead forming them as things began to go from bad to worse. Historia saw no problem in this. She figured it was working out just fine for her as the worst that ever happened to her in the past had been nothing more than yet another near death experience and a scar or two.
“I don't know if I can trust you!” was Serenity's shrill reply. She fought to be heard over the noise of the beating wings.
Jotun swooped down low, nearing the ground. Now was what could quiet possibly be their only chance. “Jump!” Historia cried as she pulled her sword out of the tough hide in one swift move, and let herself fall into the grassy knolls below. It was not a long fall but the air left her lungs the instant she landed. She was otherwise okay though she had a feeling she'd be seeing bruises appear by sunset.
Serenity fell with far less grace, which was saying something when compared to Historia. She landed with a dull thud, a few metres to the right. Clambering to her feet, Historia whistled for her horse. Serenity was up as well, heading over to her while the dragon zoned in on them once more.
Hefting herself up onto her horse, Historia grabbed the reins and waited for Serenity to join her. Arms far stronger than they appeared wrapped around her waist. Historia gave Serenity a glance over to make sure she was okay before urging her steed to start running. “Come on, Hans!” she commanded as the horse soon began to run as fast as the poor creature could. Historia kept low to saddle, hoping to garner some extra speed. The princess followed suit in a confused fashion.
As they road towards the thick woods ahead, beyond the hills the tower resided in, Historia could still hear the anguished roars of Jotun behind her.
***
They rested in the woods alongside a stream. Vividly coloured flowers grew around them, their
sweet scents invading the cool evening air. A small fire blazed brilliantly on the bank, the two girls sitting around it. They faced each other but yet neither spoke.
Historia was still on edge, worried now that her adrenaline was gone and her mind was clear enough to think rationally. Would she be able to fight it if the dragon showed up again? She hoped she could, but she barely managed to pass her training, and that was only because her friend Ava had tutored her after hours. Ava often insisted that Historia passed on her own merits, and not because of any aid her friend gave her nor her father's fame, but Historia always had a hard time believing that. She had only passed because she had competent friends and a father who was a renowned knight. It had to be the only way.
Serenity spoke for the first time in hours, breaking Historia out of her thoughts. “So... what made you come and get me, oh mighty knight?” Her tone dripped with sarcasm near the end. Historia figured she was angry over their unplanned ride on Jotun. Marks from the fall were already forming on the girl's pale skin, much like that had with Historia.
“I wanted to... to prove myself,” Historia admitted, staring intently into the flames as spoke. “To show people back home that I can be a good knight.” It was then, and only then, did Historia start to wonder if she had bit off more than she could chew. She had only done this to prove herself but now she was wondering if that was the right course of action.
“Because you're a girl?” Serenity asked, watching Historia like she was trying to decide something. Historia caught then look when she gave a quick glance upwards. She wasn't sure if she wanted to know what she was deciding on.
Historia shook her head. “No. Girl knights aren't that uncommon in Aradiana, especially in the capitol.”
There was a pause in their conversation. “Ah,” Serenity murmured, “it's changed since I was little, then.”
“Ten years changes a lot,” Historia replied, suddenly remembering a little more about the princess. Right, she had forgotten... “Why were you in that tower, anyways?” Historia asked. She struggled to remember that detail, only recalling that any stories – even the one the king himself had told – were often vague or outright left out any explanation. For a moment, Serenity almost seemed vulnerable. Though, the girl's face quickly became as hard as steel, with only her dark eyes betraying her real emotions.
“Why do you care?” she snapped. “You didn't even come for me!” “But... what do you mean?” Historia’s brows had furrowed in befuddlement. Princess Serenity was turning out to be quiet the conundrum for her.
Serenity clenched her jaw in what was clearly anger. “You said yourself; you came to 'prove yourself'.” She used a mocking falsetto to mimic Historia, and then continued. “I didn't matter past getting me out alive. You did this for yourself, not me. You have no right to act concerned and I don't have to tell you anything about this stupid situation my father got me into!” Serenity raised her voice at the end. It cracked, like she was going to cry, but no tears came regardless of her hurt expression.
“I... didn't think of it that way,” Historia said softly after a moment of silence. “I'm sor-”
Serenity interrupted her. “No, of course you didn't. I'm going to sleep,” and with those final words, she turned her back to Historia and stayed quiet the rest of the night.
Historia truly felt bad, her chest aching a little, but all she could do was give her horse a pat on the face, and then join the princess in sleeping once she doused the fire.
***
They passed through one city on the way back to the capitol. “Terz is so pretty,” Historia mumbled in awe to herself. She had only been to Terz once before do to taking a different route to the tower. She had been young, and barely remembered much, but she could easily recall a parade and a kind, round woman who helped her back to her father, though Historia always wondered if her father had gotten separated from her on purpose. She knew better than to dwell on such thoughts, though... and she had never dared to ask, as she was afraid of what the answers to her questions may be.
“I guess if you like rats on the streets and pickpockets,” Serenity flatly added.
Historia blinked, but instinctively her hand went to where she kept her money. “Way to take the good out of....” she trailed off, swearing then.
“Congrats. Your 'pretty' city robbed you,” was Serenity's dry remark. Historia gave her a look of contempt before sighing a little. As annoying as the princess had been on this trip, this was the worst thing that had happened since the tower. She had been planning on using her money to purchase food for the rest of the journey. Neither of them had eaten in at least a day or more.
“Why the gloomy face?” Serenity asked, and Historia heard the familiar jingle of coins. She twisted around on the saddle, noticing that Serenity had her coin purse.
“Ah-ah, I know that face,” Serenity said before Historia could get a word out, her finger waving like she was scolding her. “Before you start accusing me, I can tell you that I'm not the one who stole it. Remember when we stopped to let your horse drink? I hunted down the little thief that got you when we first entered this rat's nest and got this,” she jingled it for emphasis, “back for you with some... persuasion.” It was obvious to Historia that there had been a fight for it.
Serenity gave a cheeky grin. “I waited because I wanted to see you squirm a lil' when you noticed it was missing.”
Historia rolled her eyes but she still smiled back at her, thankful to at least have it. Serenity's smile ran away then, replaced by the faintest blush and blank face. “I don't think I did it for you. I'm just not in the mood to starve to death.”
“I don't doubt it,” Historia replied smoothly, eyeing bruises on Serenity that hadn't been there before. Historia, of course, had lied.
***
They were a few miles from Aradiana's capitol when they first heard it.
A roar nearly loud enough to burst eardrums cut through the air. The flapping of wings, far larger than any living bird, accompanied it. The pungent smell of sulfur hit Historia's noise. “It's him!” she gasped, not even bothering to look up as she urged Hans to go faster. Serenity held onto Historia tighter.
They manoeuvred through the vast, open fields, dodging Jotun's claws and his scorching flames. Historia's heartbeat thundered in her ears, mixing with the frightened buzzing of her mind. She wasn't sure if she was going to win this time.
Serenity watched the dragon behind them, trying to give Historia some extra advice while the knight did her best to navigate them to safety. However, Serenity was only human, and errors are just part of human nature. With one wrong call that Historia chose to follow, they went tumbling through the grass, jostled suddenly off the horse.
There was a faint smell of blood. Historia knew it wasn't hers. While her vision swam, she knew her armour had kept her safe. The sound of hooves – a sound she was very accustomed too – told her that Hans was okay enough to flee on his own. So, that only left Serenity, assuming Hans was unwounded.
Historia struggled to her feet. She still felt dazed her, head spinning which made her nearly fall back down. With as much strength as she could muster, she drew her sword. Jotun stood in front of her, having since landed only a few metres away in the charred remains of a wheat field, nostrils flared.
Historia charged, letting out her fiercest battle cry. “Are you suicidal?” Serenity called from out of Historia's line of sight. Maybe she was. She knew full well that could be her last stand, a dragon versus a tiny girl who barely passed as a knight? The winner was obvious. This was no fairy tale. She hadn't rescued anyone named Rapunzel, and likely wasn't going to get a happy ending.
Perhaps this was just how it was supposed to be. Historia could prove herself with a hero's death. She figured could give time for Serenity to return home, if she managed to live for more than a few seconds longer. She snapped out of those thoughts when Serenity roughly grabbed her arm, stopping Historia in her tracks. Historia lurched forward, but the princess held on tight, refusing to let go.
“Let me handle it,” she demanded. It was clear Serenity wasn't taking a 'no' for an answer.
“But...” Historia began but she stopped at the stone cold look Serenity was giving her. The princess had a glint of determination in her eyes.
“You've already shown you are capable of many things,” Serenity told her, her raised voice contrasting with a surprisingly caring tone unlike any other that Historia had heard from her on the trip. “All that is left is to prove you are capable of yielding.” She paused. Jotun was closer to them now. “And to notice when you've been pick-pocketed.” A smile crept up on Historia's face against her will, joining Serenity's crooked one.
“Please, just let me.” Serenity was not begging but she was desperate now. Jotun looked ready to attack, likely tired of waiting.
With hesitation, Historia finally nodded. Knowing it would be pointless to argue as they'd be attacked regardless, she had no choice but to let Serenity do as she pleased. Currently, she had no reason to think that it would make things worse. The princess had shown she had her own strengths, grouchy as she often seemed to be. Sure, she had made the wrong call that nearly doomed them, but surely she was trying to make it right once more.
“Don't get yourself killed over me,” Historia told her. “Don't die because you want to be a hero.” She knew it was hypocritical of her to say such, but she meant it wholeheartedly.
Serenity snorted. “I won't. I don't really believe in a 'hero's death'.” With that, Serenity picked Historia's sword, which had been discarded and abandoned during their conversation. Her grip was all wrong. Serenity clearly had miniscule experience with weapons. It wasn't like it mattered though, as Historia wasn't sure what good the sword would be by this point.
“Leave!” Serenity yelled at the beast, waving the short-sword around like the dragon was merely a very pesky raccoon. “You've done your job, you stupid oversized lizard!” Jotun reared his head, looking almost offended and then confused. No... that couldn't be right, could it? It was a dragon! It likely didn't even feel emotion like that, much less understand her.
Historia felt clammy; her skin far too warm for her liking. Insulting it, really? Was the princess trying to get them killed? She barely had to figure what Serenity meant by 'job' when the girl in question continued her spiel. “I've been rescued! No more being forced to chase little knights for some snacks. Just go! You're a wild animal, not a dog. Fly away!” Historia wondered if perhaps Serenity had gone mad from the stress, or from being alone for so many years. Jotun let out a ferocious cry that sent shivers down her spine. The dragon closed in on the last bit of space between them. His snout was mere inches away from Serenity. Reptilian eyes that were far too cold for their golden colour gazed at her. Jotun breathed on her, and even Historia could feel the heat from where she stood behind the princess. Even with her cut lip and numerous other scratches and bruises caused by the dragon, Serenity did not back down.
“Leave,” she ordered. Jotun didn't move, causing Serenity's determined face to falter.
Historia decided she had yielded enough. “She said leave! So, just fly away! You aren't wanted here,” she yelled as loud as she could, her nerves on the fritz. Oh, she hoped this wouldn't anger Jotun, or they were done for.
Something seemed to click in the Jotun's mind. He seemed to be oddly content, and with yet another head-splitting sound, he unfolded his wings and flew off. The two girls were knocked off their feet. Historia didn't dare to stand back up until the dragon was but a speck in the distance.
“Let's go,” Serenity said, seemingly out of breath.
“Yeah, let's,” Historia agreed with the same breathlessness, before she called for her horse.
***
On the way back, it was eerily quiet in comparison to the dragon's noises and thudding of their since calmed hearts. Historia was excited to be back home, of course. Now she could see Ivan's face when she proved him wrong (and perhaps their friendship could finally be mended after so many years) and she knew Ava was going to hug her tight before offering to bake something sweet for them all.
Yet, Historia wasn't sure she felt closure. She wanted answers - different from the ones she shied from in fear. No, no more running from the possibility of hating the truth. “So... what was that about? With everything you said and with the dragon just leaving like that?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder at Serenity.
Serenity let out a little huff, staring out at fields untouched by any monsters. “My father more or less captured that poor thing years ago, and forced it to keep me in that tower. He told me it wouldn't be very long. He did it because he only wanted someone who could rescue me and beat the dragon to marry me,” she explained, her own dislike of the idea evident as she talked. “It probably left when you joined in 'cause you reminded him of my dad or something, with all that armour.”
Historia pressed her lips into a thin line. So... they had something in common; their fathers were both far from being good parents. “Sounds vacuous,” she said in Serenity-like manner.
“Yeah,” Serenity agreed. “I don't suppose you want to get married, do you?”
Historia gave a hearty laugh. “I'll think on it,” she managed to reply through her laughter.
“Alright,” Serenity was chuckling now herself. Tentatively, she leaned over and kissed Historia's cheek. “Thank you.”
Historia blinked dumbly putting a hand on her too warm cheeks. “...you're wuh-welcome!” she sputtered, clearly flustered. The gate of the walled capitol loomed over them, just like the tower had for Historia. It felt so long ago now...
Maybe this had been more like a fairy tale than Historia had predicted after all.
ok so i found this really old, unfinished connoraveline fic i started over a year ago, have it i guess????
its pretty short, unedited, unfinished, and was written before the release of their games
One day Im going to regret writing fanfics about games that haven't been released yet. But yeah, I wrote more connoraveline to go with my first one, though this takes place well before that! uwu
Connor shifted nervously in the chair. It was digging into his back, but he tried to ignore the discomfort. The air in the room was stuffy and stale, smelling slightly like flowers.
He had long since taken off his jacket, placing it onto the chair beside him. It was far too room in the house for his liking, with the dead summer heart aiding him in no way.
Connor was never a fan of houses like this; so different from where he grew up. Grand, but simple enough, full of furniture that was probably never used and little trinkets that held little or not meaning other than to shove the home owners wealth in one's face.
Alas, he had been told he was to meet another member of the brotherhood here. He had to stay in place until they arrived. Apparently they had gone off to do some errands leaving Connor to wait around while the other patrons of the house bustled around.
He had been offered food and a drink, but other wise went ignored by everyone else. Connor didn't mind. In fact, that was how he preferred things to be; with him slinking into the shadows, allowed to do what he pleased.
By now, the assassin was starting to get restless. Connor admitted he wasn't the best at staying still. Sure, he was no jittery child on a sugar high, but he still got fidgety after a long time. Who ever this Aveline De Lalala - Connor didn't have time to learn to remember all the colonists names - was, she better have been doing something important to keep him waiting so long.
His master said he had sent a message before hand. Surely, she had seen it and knew he'd be coming down around this time?
Connor sighed, fingering his necklace for a moment. He itched to be outside again. He liked being outside. Or, at least, back on his ship that he had used to sail down to New Orleans.
The town itself was nice enough, but there was a bit of a language barrier. Connor didn't speak French, which was one of the more common languages in the area. He was outside of the British colonies by this point, meaning he had even less allies than usual. This wasn't him home, but even then it bothered him that there were so many outsiders; people who came from other lands that might as well have stayed there for all he cared.
He tried to not get too upset about that. It was pointless. Anyways, without the colonists he wouldn't exist. And then what good would that do him?
Finally, he heard someone enter the home. He stood up then, glancing into the hall from the sitting room he had been told to wait in. A woman, about his age, hummed to herself as she carried of basket of supplies. She was dark skinned; darker skinned then he was expecting.
And prettier, too, a voice in his mind said. He choose to ignore that.
Abstergo
I've been in an AC:Revelations mood lately and I got carried away when I heard one of the lines in the Desmond journeys parts of the game, mainly a line about when he first heard of Abstergo. And thus, I wrote about Desmond a child.
EDIT: fixed a few capitalization problems and overuse of the word 'dear'.
He stands on the tips of his toes as he reaches, fingers spread wide, for the bottle that is just out of his reach. His whole body aches with dull pain; his head pounds while his face flushes red. He's tired and aching. It's been a long day of training: running, fighting, climbing; the works. He hungers for food, but for now, all he wants is what eludes him at this very moment.
He's already taller than many of the kids he knows. Not all. The ones who are slightly older than him still tower above him, though, not as much as they had once before.
And it's true. He is getting much closer to his mother's height as the years pass, though she too still seems so much taller himself.
Finally, he feels his hand grip the cool plastic of the small bottle. Bringing the pill bottle down close to him as he relaxes onto his flat feet, he unscrews the cap in one fluid motion, and reaps his spoils.
He downs two ibuprofen with a swig of well water, hoping that it'll act fast. He's only recently started any sort of serious training, but already he doesn't like it. His father is too strict; too forceful for his liking. It's difficult and, truth be told, he is afraid. Afraid of his father, afraid of the other adults training him, afraid of the other trainees – all whom of which seem stronger even if they are shorter, and afraid of why he is training.
But still, he is a good son, and he presses on, blindly following what his parents tell him to do. They've told him, albeit vaguely, time and time again why.
The Templars.
They are the reason for their way of life. They are assassins, and they oppose the Templars. They are the good in the darkness; a yin yang to the Templars. They are the heroes, as he likes to think, and that alone makes him keep the benefit of a doubt for a little while longer.
His eyes, golden brown like the feathers on an eagle, float over the text covering the label of the container. He's waiting for the pills to kick in, and doesn't feel like confronting anyone yet. He moves his finger – dirty with a nail blunt from working with them – to read some more words underneath.
Something catches his eye, and he pauses for a moment from his lazed reading.
Abstergo.
He rereads the part, which informs him that the company that makes the pain killers is owned by Abstergo. He's never heard of the company before, though to be frank he is not familiar with many companies at all.
Still something about the name seems familiar even if he is sure he's never seen it before. Often times, he likes to ask about the world beyond; places that he isn't allowed to go but he knows others, including his parents, have been to.
'Sore, dear?' He nearly jumps at the sound of his mother's voice. Glancing over at her, he gives a small smile. He likes her voice. It's so different from his father's; it's warm and sweet like honey, unlike the strict but grudgingly loving tones he gets from the other male in his family. However, they both seem to have this distinct demanding tone to them, much like if they were teachers. They do not have complete control over him, but from just their voices he can tell that they are aiming to get some kind of respect and cooperation; of which he tries to his best to give.
'A bit. Do we really have to train this much?' he asks, staring at the pill bottle again.
His mother gives a smile of her own. 'Of course we do. We want you to know how to protect not only yourself, but others, as well. It is extremely important.'
'I see,' he pauses, because he really doesn't, 'but…'
'But what, hun?' his mother inquires as she moves from the doorway into the kitchen. Her hair is messy and her face is smudged with some dirt; she was most likely outside in one of the gardens.
He wants to bring up his suspicions; his doubts about what they are really doing out here, in the middle of nowhere, and his doubts about this so called war. They're always ready to move at the drop of a hat, yet in his short life, they've never even come close to needing to.
What was the point of this all?
But he bites his tongue, and says nothing. He does not want his parents to feel bad, to feel like they've failed at this or that; or suspect him as turning against their community. He loves them of course, but he can't help the doubt that creeps into his mind, like a cat hiding in the shadows.
'Dear?'
His mother places a gloved hand into his shoulder. The material is rough; course with time and use. He just shakes his head a bit; glad to see the pain has subsided.
'This… this bottle,' he begins, hoping to change the subject, 'it says it was made by a company called Abstergo. Do you know who Abstergo is?' He is only mildly curious, but he knows his mother will bother him until he says something.
He hands it over to her, as she looks at it in silence. Then, she gives a light hearted laugh. It's the kind of laugh that always made him feel safe and happy; but today, it arrives with an edge of something else that he cannot place. It's unfamiliar and he's not sure what to make of it.
'Can't get away,' she says softly, a sad smile tugging at her lips.
'Is something wrong, mom?'
'Oh, dear, it's just that… you know those men we've told you about?' And he does. He knows less than he'd like to, but he does.
'The Templars?' His brow furrows in confusion. What do Templars have to do with pain killers and the companies that own the products?
'Yes,' she coos softly as she turns the bottle over in her hands, listening to the sounds of the pill moving around inside. 'Absertgo is a group of Templars, who have managed to find not only a way into the lives of countless people with their products, but also a way to fund their conquest for power.'
He nods a bit, taking it in. With that sign, his mother continues on speaking. 'A common household has about three dozen Abstergo owned products. It's not a surprise that one managed to slip into the farm.'
She turns and hands the bottle back to him, which is her way of saying he has to put it back where it belongs.
'Now, wash up for dinner,' she tells him, tapping him lightly on the nose. He frowns, fighting to hide the smile forming on his lips as he scrunches up his face.
'You're gonna get me all dirty,' he mutters, as his mother turns to leave.
When she is gone, he looks back at the bottle. He'd never been able to a face to their enemy until now. Before, he had tried, but everything that came to mind when he heard the word Templar seemed too… story-bookish.
Perhaps, if he had been more cynical from the test of time, he would have laughed. After all, now all he would think of when someone brought up their enemy, the very group of people causing the world so much apparent pain, was a bottle of pain killers. But he was not cynical; he was merely an eleven year old boy.
Eleven; the same age Altaïr had been when he cried out for his father, Umar, as Umar was executed in front of his eyes.
But he doesn't know this, not yet, nor does it matter to him yet. For he is not Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad. No. He is Desmond Miles, and he does not know of the real tragedies in the world, though one day he may. He grows bored with each war story, but it isn't until later that he feels the weight of them all.
Even as a man, now twenty-five years of age, he still thinks of that one bottle of pain killers, and wonders how things could have gone differently. What if he had known what he knows now? About Altaïr and Ezio and Connor, about the harsh reality of the Templars and the Assassins?
But he did not know. He knows now, and he figures that is the best it's ever going to be.
And he, Desmond, knows better than anyone that you cannot change the past. So, he tries his best to move on, wishing he could forget and relive his old life at the same time. The past doesn't matter, he knows this as well. All that matters is the present, and from there the future.
For he is Desmond Miles, and he is an Assassin.
Baiser Français
Ficlet; Rose and John share a kiss.
You aren't too sure how it came to this point but you're not complaining. Your kissing one of your best friends and it feels nice; perfect even. Her lipstick is smearing on your lips a bit as you push a bit closer, but the kiss is short and chaste.
Rose pulls back with a small blush, and you figure you probably have a flushed face as well. You want to say something to her; after all, this was just supposed to be a normal movie night with your friend Rose, because you had decided you wanted to spend more time with her now that you weren't in two completely different places.
One thing lead to another, and a kiss was shared.
Now, your heart beats at an unstoppable pace, and you still can't say anything. A part of you wishes not to. After all, Dave will often tell you what an insensitive jerk you can be with your words, though you think he's just as bad. However, Dave knows Rose more than you do, since he was the one who introduced you to Rose, your friend of several years. Thus, you aren't sure where to even begin talking with her in real life.
Rose has the look in her eyes that tells you that she wants to say something witty, but has decided to hold her sharp tongue for the moment.
“So, um...” You begin, before you voice falters. You trail your voice off into the air. Thoughts race through your mind, and soon you can no longer find the right words. “Is now an awkward time to bring up that I sort of have a crush on you?” You say sheepishly.
Rose give a tiny laugh and you are not sure what to think. Really, you've never been to sure with your feelings. Romance has never been something you've been able to deal with, and thus you tried to avoid it. But you love Rose; she is one of your best friends, and you are not a Homosexual no matter how cool Dave is. It feels slightly weird, now, due to knowing about the things that Karkat had told you, but even then you feel an urge to kiss Rose once more.
You lean forward, and kiss her lightly on the lips. The two of you share a few more kisses, before you're entranced by the small movement of Roses lips; when she kisses, she sort of opens then a bit, before closing them when lips meet completely. Its odd but intriguing.
You find yourself mimicking the motion badly, and at one point she pulls away to ask if you're trying to bite her.
You laugh it off, shaking your head, and kiss her nervously again. This one is featherlight and seconds long. You're just too worried you'll make a wrong move, and you know you don't want to make Rose do anything she doesn't want to - partially because you figure she can beat you up.
But Rose doesn't seem to mind as much as you had feared, and you are soon kissing her again. You catch your lips doing the same motion as before, and then the actions that come from it make your heart feel like it's going to burst from your chest.
Tongue.
You feel tongue against your own. Through the heat of the kiss, with Rose moved closer to you, and her lips awkwardly against yours, you can't tell who initiated the french kiss. One moment you can feel your tongue slipping into her mouth, just touching the slightly moving teeth, and brushing up against her own tongue; the next moment, she practically shoving it down your throat and you find yourself not caring at all. In fact, you want her to keep going, brushing up against her's.
Your lips awkwardly fold and press against her's during this, but it doesn't matter. If it were to be anyone else, you figure you would vomit then and there. But instead, you relish in the slightly slimy feel that someone manages to send tingles up your spine.
She tastes bland yet so good. It's something that is difficult for you to explain. Your hands hold her wrists lightly, and you can feel her overpowering you a bit. You don't mind, just loosing yourself in the kiss, wanting more and more.
Finally, you both feel like you need to pull away to get some more air into your lungs. You hope neither of you are sick in any way because you'd hate to get ill from something like that. She smiles sweetly at you, in one of her nicer, or “rosier” moods, as you call them. Earlier she had been making snarky comments along side you during the movie, which you like to think brought up her mood.
You note that your lips feel tingly; a sort of numb tickle from the tongues coming and going from your mouth. The skin on the roof of your mouth feels slightly raw and a bit smoother.
After a small moment, you kiss again, starting up the same process. You kiss, wanting more and more from it and to your surprise, Rose complies. You pull away from your girlfriend again – you have confidence that you can call her that now – and go to turn off the movie. When you sit back down, it's time for sloppy make outs once more.
